


even if it's a lie

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Dom Jon Snow, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flawed characters, Good Girl Sansa Stark, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark Are Not Related, Mistakes Are Made, Public Sex, Some Plot, Some angst, Sort Of, There's actually a lot of plot but only inside my head, This is Not a Student-Professor fic, Yes this happened, but i dropped hints, mentions of cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23851315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: He presses more firmly against her, fingertips rubbing just rightthereand she crosses her legs in a rush, bumps her knee on the table, makes noise, disrupts students, attracts attention.Fire everywhere, her cheeks, her chest, hercunt.She hates him.She doesn’t."Spread your legs for me, Sansa."
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 40
Kudos: 172





	even if it's a lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charmtion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmtion/gifts).



> This is a direct result of my sad, horny and self isolating ass. Hope you're all staying safe during these hard times 💜
> 
> Also this is a gift to Charm. Honey, I'm hoping you'll enjoy this because you're such an inspiration and I learn a lot from you, so consider this an homage of some sorts? I don't know, let me stop talking before I start rambling. Oh, and you already know that I adore you but I'm gonna say it again just because: I adore you. Okay, bye.

Fingers caressing the inside of her thigh.

That's how it starts. With his calloused fingers moving slowly, hand wandering up her cotton dress, palm pressing hot against her soft skin. 

She blushes, tries to ignore it, focuses her eyes on the pages before her, small black letters printed on shiny paper, the chapters she needs to read for tomorrow's exam. He's supposed to be helping her out, said he'd take the afternoon off to do so, but his hand disappears under the table, now resting between her legs, thumb drawing circles on her skin. She can't hold the small huff that escapes her lips, watches as his mouth curls up slightly, hates that he's keeping his cool while making her lose herself, hates that she can't be mad at him for doing so.

They're sharing an eight seat table with three other people, all seeming unaware of his hand moving closer to where she shouldn't want him, yet does. He shifts it, index finger now gently rasping against her lacy blue panties, the ones he bought her, the ones he told her to wear today, barely touching, yet burning flames through her body. Hardening nipples and curling toes and biting lips and  _ fuck,  _ someone will notice, they'll be kicked out, she’ll be flagged for inappropriate behavior and that absolutely cannot be on her college file.

He presses more firmly against her, fingertips rubbing just right  _ there  _ and she crosses her legs in a rush, bumps her knee on the table, makes noise, disrupts students, attracts attention.

Fire everywhere, her cheeks, her chest, her  _ cunt. _

She hates him.

_ She doesn’t. _

"Spread your legs for me, Sansa."

His voice is soft in her ear, a whisper, gentle toned command, one she can't refuse. The good girl inside her is desperate to keep her legs crossed, or better yet, to get up and leave, to be taken home and put out of her agony. But good girls do as they're told, so she spreads, releases the hold on his hand, opens wider than before, busies herself with her hair to maintain the illusion of control, experienced fingers undoing her braid as he pushes aside the lacy fabric covering her cunt.

"What was that book you said you needed?" Teases at her entrance, middle finger slick with the feel of her, not yet going inside. She's soaked, like usual, already needing to be filled up by him.  _ Fuck. _ His voice is still low, only now loud enough for her table mates to hear, and he watches her with serious eyes, waiting for an answer.

"I don't-" a small sigh as his finger finds her clit, starts teasing at a soft pace. "I don't remember the name."

There's no book at all and her brain can't focus on anything but the small fire between her thighs, slowing growing bigger, spreading up, consuming her. She wants to beg for him to either stop or go faster, but good girls only speak when they're spoken to and she has no intention of misbehaving.

That can wait until tomorrow.

His hand shifts again, middle finger entering her slowly, curling up inside, her walls clenching at the feel of him. He pumps her, hard, adding his ring finger to better fill her up and she almost dies right there at the table. She's wet and slick and she can hear the faint noise of his fingers coming in and out of her, the scent of her arousal catching her nose and she makes a silent prayer that no else has noticed as well.

"Think you can recognize it by the cover? I can help you look for it but I need to get going soon."

She can't open her mouth. If she does, she'll moan, and she can't for the life of her do that, so she simply shakes her head at him, playing along, still not sure of what he's up to. He smiles at her, gives her one last pump and removes his hand completely, leaving her empty and needy and desperate, only to take her hand in his. She feels his wet fingers wrapped around hers, fingers wet with  _ her  _ and a blush comes down from her cheeks to her neck and chest. Her nipples beg to be touched, overly sensitive against the lace of her bra, and she’s desperate for him, needs his hands on her, needs his lips, his  _ cock.  _ It grows within her, the desire to be taken, to be consumed, to be thoroughly fucked by him, and she would have him right here on the wooden table if she could.

He rises, pulling her up with him, and she looks at his figure, standing out at the middle of the library, a man amongst boys, a god amongst mortals. Seems like a silly comparison, but it’s the truth. He is a god in many ways, to her especially, yes, but to others too, his name being capable of making men shiver, his presence exuding an air of authority. He has no business being here. His nicely fitted black suit gives him away too easily, even though he’s missing the tie, his jacket unbuttoned in a casual way. The suit and the ring, golden steel on his finger, distinguishing him from the sea of juniors and seniors like herself, deep within their books on a Thursday afternoon, yet no one pays them much attention. It’s time for midterms and they’re all to busy to notice as Sansa follows Jon down the hallways, his hand strongly gripping hers, long steps being met with hurried ones, her beating heart slamming in her chest as they approach the end of the library, where is quieter, calmer, less likely to run in to a desperate student, easier to get lost amongst the dark corners.

He takes her by surprise, pushes her against a bookshelf, one hand covering her mouth so she won’t whimper, the other holding her by the waist, strong fingers warm even over the cotton of her dress. Grey eyes meet blue ones and she’s trapped under his gaze, chest rising and falling rapidly, waiting for him, eager, her hands dying to wrap around his shoulder, grasp at his curls, but she keeps them still at her sides. Good girls move only when they’re told and he is silent, watching her, eyes growing darker by the second, so she exercises her restraint, waits for the command she’s sure he’ll give her.

“I’m gonna need you to be quiet, Sansa. Understand? Be quiet or someone will catch us, and you know that can’t happen.”

She nods, eyes never leaving his, and he takes his hand from her mouth, swiping his thumb over her bottom lip in the process. She opens up and bites him, softly, only enough to catch his finger between her lips, her tongue darting out to slowly lick at the fingertip, and he lets out a small groan, closes his eyes, presses his thumb deeper into her mouth. She licks it, sucks it, just once, before he pulls it out completely, smearing her own saliva against her lips then moving his hand down to rest at her long neck. She feels his wet thumb on her skin before he starts applying pressure, choking her the smallest bit, and she parts her lips to gasp.

That’s when he kisses her.

It's slow, slower than she wants, his tongue taking it's time to caress her, mapping out her lips, her tongue, mouth descending to nip at her chin, all while his hand tightens around her throat. The other moves from her waist to between her legs, lifting up her dress, under the fabric of her panties to spread open her folds again, his fingers pumping in and out of her at the slow rhythm of his tongue.

"Come home with me today." He whispers, lips on her skin.

She wants to say yes, is desperate for his touch, craves the release only he can give her. And yet, it wouldn't be  _ right.  _ It simply wouldn't be, not with the way things are, not with the way he still hasn't handled his mess of a situation, and she won't give in right now, no matter how much she wants to.

"You know I have an exam tomorrow."

_ Bullshit. _

That's what it is. An excuse, a way out. She knows it, he knows it. She's the best in her class, has been studying for weeks, knows the subject by heart. Plus, she doesn't even need this grade all that much. It's a lie, and she knows how much he hates being lied to, can see it in his eyes.  _ Total bullshit.  _ And yet he's quiet, doesn't push her, knows sooner or later she'll come around, and she knows it too, tries to make her peace with it.

It's turning out to be surprisingly easy.

He lowers his mouth to her neck, nipping at the soft skin gently, his hand descending to tease her hard nipple over her dress. She contains a sigh, lifts her arms to grab onto the shelves, steadies herself while he slowly gets down on his knees, looks up at her, removes his fingers from her cunt and brings them to his mouth, licks them one by one, his eyes now the color of a storm.

It's a strange vision, this man in front of her, kneeling at the floor of a college library, wearing a custom made suit, lips flushed from leaving kisses on her skin, eyes hungry for more, for  _ her _ . He’s the one on the ground, yet she’s completely at his mercy, one of her hands coming down to crunch up the skirt of her dress, giving him better access to where she needs him.

His hand leaves her breast to grab at her thigh, lifting it up to rest on his shoulder, opening her up to him. He holds her in place, palm pressed harshly against her skin, while his other hand is busy, fingers pushing aside the lace of her panties and once again pumping in and out of her at a faster pace. She watches him as he watches her cunt, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her clit as his fingers curl inside her, stretching her walls, making her shiver. For a moment, her gaze shifts to the hand grabbing at her thigh, his left hand, the hand with the golden ring, and the inadequacy of it all burns inside her, but she’s too far gone to care. What is worse? That he’s not a free man or that he’s fucking her with his fingers out in the open?

Both.

Neither.

_ Fuck. _

She hates this, hates him.

She doesn’t, not really, but  _ fuck,  _ how she wishes it was true. It would make it all much easier if for a second she could believe in her hatred for him.

He brings his lips to her cunt and  _ sucks. _

She surrenders.

He’s supporting her weight now, left hand moving from her thigh to her lower back, squeezing her ass in the process, arm pulling her closer, and that’s good because she can’t see the ring, can simply pretend for a moment. His tongue is fast on her clit, his fingers keep moving and a whimper escapes for her lips, louder than it’s supposed to be, and she trembles as he shushes her, his lips still pressed against her heat. “You need to be quiet, love, or I’ll stop.”

_ Love. _

There’s the stupid pet name. He shouldn’t call her that, not when he can’t promise it to her. And she shouldn’t care, she knows, hates that she can’t help but melt even more when he says it, hates that he has her biting her lip so hard it tears at her skin just so that she can keep quiet for him. This was supposed to be only pleasure, nothing more, never anything more, that was her deal with herself and yet here she is, completely at his mercy, his scent on her skin and his mouth on her cunt and his hold on her heart.

When she comes is with a violent shudder and the taste of blood on her tongue.

He gently drops her leg, watches as she catches her breath, half opened ocean eyes staring back at him, ready to drown in his darkness if he so commands. He rises, straightens the wrinkles on his shirt and pants, buttons his suit jacket, mouth and beard glistening with her orgasm. She wants to lick her arousal off of him, push him to the ground, ride him fast and hard, make him come with her name on his lips, yet she stays still, waits for his cue, longs for his words, hopes for his kisses.

He takes a white handkerchief from his pocket and she feels a sudden urge to laugh.  _ Only Jon would carry something like this around. _ Anybody else would look silly but he makes it look elegant. She watches as he cleans himself, first his fingers then his face, then his hand is gently dabbing the soft fabric against her blood stained lips. He folds it, puts it back in his pocket, lifts his hand to push a strand of her hair behind her ear, the hand with the ring, that stupid, cursed ring.

“I’m picking you up for dinner tomorrow, at eight. If you already have plans, cancel them.”

She doesn’t.

Her Friday nights are always his.

She nods, breathes out an  _ okay,  _ before giving him a half smile, waits for whatever his next move will be. He’s always the quietest when they’re saying goodbye. Part of her indulges in the hope his silence means he doesn’t want to leave her. Realistically, she knows it must simply be because there’s not much to say after he does what he does to her. He probably doesn’t want to encourage her, fears that she’ll grow too attached. She always tries to assure him that she isn't. She might be a good girl, but she’s certainly not his.

You can’t belong to someone when they’re already taken.

He takes a step forward, a small, gentle peck on her cheek that leaves her blushing, mouth inches from hers when he speaks.

“You should get back to your books, Sansa. Don’t want to risk failing your exam tomorrow.”

And he smiles.

That’s how it ends. With his last smile still engraved on her mind, standing alone at the end of the library, where it’s quieter, calmer, easier to get lost amongst the dark corners. Fire everywhere, a different kind this time, but it’s still there, on her cheeks, her chest, her  _ cunt. _

And she hates him.

She really,  _ really _ hates him.

_ She doesn’t. _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the read! Please let me know your thoughts if you feel like it also please take it easy on me if you didn't enjoy it 💜
> 
> As always, English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I'm trying my best to improve every day 🙆🏻♀️
> 
> I'm @sansaravenclaw on tumblr if you ever wanna chat! Thank you for reading, bye 😘


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